


194. not dying

by piggy09



Series: The Sestre Daily Drabble Project [64]
Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Gen, Guardian Angels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 13:16:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7936204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piggy09/pseuds/piggy09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She sits bolt upright, and the picture swims into focus: two cars crashed into each other. A hole in Sarah’s windshield that is about the size of Sarah. A body in the other driver’s seat that she can’t look at. A woman with wings sitting on the crumpled-up hood of the other car. A crowd of people standing by. And Sarah on the gr—</p>
<p>Wait. Rewind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	194. not dying

Sarah wakes up in a cacophony of broken glass. Her head is ringing. Somewhere she can hear a distant voice saying _oh my god, oh my god, call 911_ , but she feels fine. Vaguely confused. How did she end up here, anyways, the last thing she can remember is driving—

She sits bolt upright, and the picture swims into focus: two cars crashed into each other. A hole in Sarah’s windshield that is about the size of Sarah. A body in the other driver’s seat that she can’t look at. A woman with wings sitting on the crumpled-up hood of the other car. A crowd of people standing by. And Sarah on the gr—

Wait. Rewind.

“Who the hell are you,” Sarah croaks to the woman. With wings. Sitting on the crumpled-up hood of the other car.

“You can see me?” says the woman, sounding baffled. Her eyes go very wide. She says: “Uh oh.”

“No, seriously,” Sarah says, sitting up. She brushes glass from the front of her jacket as she goes. “What’s with the wings? Who—”

But the woman is looking past her, and she looks alarmed. “Um,” she says. “We should go, I think, before they realize that none of your ribs are broken. Anymore.”

“Wh—” Sarah tries, but the woman has already hopped off the dashboard and is bouncing away – literally bouncing, because her wings are propelling her along in short little bursts.

“ _Shite_ ,” Sarah growls, and clambers to her feet to start running after; she ignores the cries of _wait_ and _you shouldn’t be moving_ and _really, she shouldn’t be – weren’t all her ribs broken?_ that echo behind her as she goes.

* * *

She finds the woman at the table of a cafe, waiting for her and peacefully stealing bits of donuts from the table next to her. The woman at the next table is completely oblivious, even when Sarah’s stranger plucks a piece of donut out of her hand.

“Talk,” Sarah says, dropping into the seat across from her.

“You should eat first, Sarah,” is the only response she gets. She’s offered a piece of someone else’s donut. “Food is important.”

Sarah stares at the donut until the woman tries to shove it in her mouth. Then she takes it with a muttered _alright, alright, shit_ and glumly starts eating.

“You know my name,” she says warily.

“Yes!” says the perfect stranger.

“You have wings,” Sarah says.

“Yes!”

“I was dead.”

“Technically…no.”

“I was gonna die.”

“Y…es?”

“If I say it I’m gonna sound like a bloody lunatic,” Sarah says. “You say it.”

The woman blinks at her. “My name is Helena?” she tries hopefully.

“Try again.”

Helena sighs, in a flapping of lips. “I’m your guardian angel.”

“ _There_ we go,” Sarah says. “Explain _that_.”

Helena shrugs a shoulder. “I have been watching after you since you were _itty_ bitty. This big.” She helpfully lowers a hand to the ground, to demonstrate. “And now you are bigger!” She hops up; her wings flap desperately, getting her slightly off the ground. No one else turns around or acknowledges her, because this is Sarah’s special hell. Helena’s hand is held proudly at what is approximately Sarah’s height. Good for her.

“Well,” Sarah says. “Uh. Thanks for – you know.”

“It’s my job,” Helena says solemnly. “To keep you safe!” She pauses. “Maybe not now though.”

“…what?” Sarah says.

Helena is fidgeting in her seat, hands tucked between her thighs. “This was maybe – um. Your time? And now…it is… _not_ your time. Because it is a nice day! The sky is blue! There was a song on the radio about cake. A bad day to die. So.” She sucks her lips between her teeth and then lets them go. “And now…you can see me!” She stops talking. Sarah waits for a second more before she realizes Helena is not _actually_ going to say _ta-dah!_

“I was – I was supposed to _die?_ ” Sarah says, voice high and shrill and thin. The sound echoes. People at the cafe turn around and shoot her looks, because of course they can hear _her_ end of this conversation.

“No!” Helena says urgently. Pauses. “Maybe.”

“Oh, god,” Sarah says, and rests her head in her hands. She was supposed to die. That was – she was supposed to _die_.

She’s interrupted by a tentative pat at her head. Then another one, less tentative. Then it’s just: pat pat pat pat pat.

“Stop,” she mutters.

“Sorry,” Helena says. “I’ve never touched you before. Your hair is soft.”

That is when Sarah bursts into hysterical laughter.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please kudos + comment if you enjoyed! :)


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